


Away From Home

by Angelily_Viventis



Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [37]
Category: Alan Rickman - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Children, Crying, Daddy Alan, Established Relationship, F/M, Grumpy Old Men, Married Couple, Older Man/Younger Woman, Sick Alan, Sick Character, Size Difference, Toddlers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:35:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24850930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelily_Viventis/pseuds/Angelily_Viventis
Summary: The one where both Alan and Alyson catch a horrible cold while at Emma Thompson's Christmas party.
Relationships: Alan Rickman/Child, Alan Rickman/Original Female Character(s), Alan Rickman/Reader
Series: Alan Rickman x Plus-size reader [37]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1729954
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	1. Away From Home Part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please note: these are individual one-shots and function as stand-alone chapters. None of the work in these series follow on each other unless indicated as "Parts".

"Our story begins with a wee little rabbit by the name of Peter," the thick British accent belonging to Emma Thompson speaks softly to the small child resting her head against Emma's arm.

"Pe-ta," Alyson repeats as she gnaws on her beloved Paddington bear and points at the picture in the book.

"Yes, dear," Emma starts. "Now that we've established that you can connect names to pictures, may I continue?" She asks comically before continuing the story.

Fifteen minutes into the story, she inconspicuously reaches for the television remote and turns Pepa Pig's volume down as she notes the small child's breathing slowing down, her head already drooping.

She closes the book and gently pries herself out of Alyson's grasp as she lays the small babe down on the sofa, covering her in the cashmere throw. She places a few pillows on the floor and next to her side on the couch before dimming the light to her office. She closes the door slightly to drown some of the music out, but not to totally seclude the child.

Emma Thompson's Christmas parties are by far the best Alan has attended in their pool of celebrity friends. Not merely because of the expensive wine she likes to serve or because of the huge amount of food she keeps setting out, but because of the guests she always manages to invite.

Between the sea of dancing bodies in the large dimly-lit living room, he's spotted their usual group: Helena Bonham Carter, Helen Mirren, Tim Burton, Rubie Wax, and Michael Gambon. He's also laid eyes upon Judie Dench, Benedict Cumberbatch, Gary Oldman, Adele and Paul McCartney throughout the evening. Emma sure knows how to throw a party and the music is always very fitting. As can be judged from the song that's blaring over the surround sound system.

"Da-dyyyy," Alyson whines sleepily and stretches her arms up at Alan, poor Paddington's ear being gnawed between her new set of milk teeth.

He looks down and frowns at his one-and-a-half-year-old tod as he is under the impression she's asleep by now. He's astound at how clingy she is today, but nevertheless gulps the last of his red wine and places the crystal wine glass on the sideboard before picking her up.

"Alyson, honestly, you should be asleep. Why don't you go watch the telly, hm?" he sniffles before answering slightly annoyed at her interruption.

He was in the middle of a heated discussion about art in politics with Sting before she came waddling over. This is the first time he and (Y/N) are attending a party with Alyson since she was born, and they aren't sure what to expect in these situations.

"S'cuse me, I'll be right back," he apologises in his gruff voice to the older man and leaves with Alyson on his hip.

"Oh, let me get you a tissue," (Y/N) says surprised as Alan approaches her with a sleepy Alyson on his hip.

She feels up her long-sleeve and pulls out a tissue before wiping the dripping snot under Alyson's nose.

"I don't think she's doing too well," he leans in close to her and raises his voice above the loud music.

"Here, let me take her into one of the rooms," she shouts back and stretches her arms out to Alyson.

"Hm-hmmm," Alyson shrieks and twists in her father's hold before he gives a tut with his tongue.

"I don't know what's gotten into her today," he adjusts her to his other hip, huffing in annoyance.

"Don't get frustrated with her - she's clearly ill and she might not like the loud music blaring in her ears," she reprimands her husband softly.

She knows he's been craving to come out to the party and have some decent adult conversations instead of being home with a small child all day. And she has to agree, Alyson has been particularly clingy to Alan today.

"Da-dyyyy," Alyson whines again and hits her head tiredly against his chest before coughing violently and crying.

In a spilt second Alan's demeanor changes from annoyed to empathetic as his paternal instincts kick in and he reaches up, patting her on her back slightly. He forgets all about his annoyances and earlier conversation with Sting as all his attention focuses on his sick girl.

Alan takes off with Alyson and in an attempt to escape the loud music and rowdy guest, (Y/N) takes refuge in the less noisy kitchen.

"Everything alright with Aly?" Emma asks, sounding like the genuine concerned English mother that she is.

"She's just a little congested. Alan has her in the bathroom now - he's hoping the steam of the shower will clear both their sinuses," she sees the older dame packing away dirty dishes into the dishwasher and decides to lend a helping hand.

"Oh, goodness," she grimaces. "Taking care of one sick child is enough, but _two_?" She jokes lightly, referring to an equally sick and cranky Alan.

(Y/N) sighs defeated, "Tell me about it... Worst is, I know Alan is feeling terrible, but Alyson won't even let me hold her - she just wants her _Da-dy_."

"Oh, nevermind that," she dismisses with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "They're probably feeding off each other's illnesses. I'm sure Alan loves the attention."

"Yes, but I'm just worried that he'll get frustrated quickly with her," fine white crockery clinks as she stacks the dirty plates on top of each other.

"Why don't you just stay the night then?" Emma offers matter-of-factly.

"W-we were planning on leaving a little earlier to get home at a decent hour, but I think it's safe to say Alyson is by far too sick to go out in the cold..."

"Exactly! Besides, the roads are iced over. No one in their right mind would dare drive on them now," Emma says in her knowing fashion.

"By gosh, you're right," (Y/N) mutters as she pulls on her bottom lip nervously. "I never bothered to check the weather reports..."

"Great - it's settled then!" Emma claps her hands together gleefully, slightly startling (Y/N) in the process. "You'll all stay here for the night or however long it takes for the roads to clear up."

"Emma, I- we don't want to be a burden on you. You have enough guests to entertain as it is," she offers sincerely.

"Oh, nonsense! This is just a small get together - you should've seen my dinner parties back in the eighties," Emma guffaws and lands a hand gently on (Y/N)'s shoulder.

"Don't you worry, dear. This house has fourteen bedrooms and an equal amount of lavatories. Most of the guests are gonna be passed out on the living room floor anyway. Let's see to get you lot settled, eh?"

The older woman guides her out of the kitchen, through a maze of various rooms, and out into the lengthy hallway. She decides on the room at the very end of the hall, furthest removed from the noise.

"This should suffice - unfortunately, I don't have any bed smaller than a king size or else I would bring it in here to let Aly sleep on it," she brags humbly as she steers (Y/N) into the room by her shoulders.

"Wow, this room is amazing," (Y/N) breathes in awe as her eyes land on the massive four poster bed against the wall. "This is more than accommodating, thank you."

"You're very welcome. Now, how are you on supplies?" Emma asks and makes her way over to the bed, turning the sheets down.

"I'm sorry?" A confused eyebrow raises on (Y/N)'s forehead.

"Diapers, milk, pajamas for you three, you know?"

"Oh, well, uh... Aly's emergency bag is in the car and it's stocked with the necessities. Except for the milk maybe..." she trails off searching her mind for a possible solution. She knows Alyson won't go to bed without her milk, especially now that she feels sick.

"I can help with that, don't you fret. How about you and Al?"

"We'll be alright," she waves Emma off. "We'll just sleep in what we have on, it's fine."

"Well, listen, all these drawers are stocked with clothes and toothbrushes, toiletries, you name it," she pulls the heavy wooden chest of drawers open and reveals all the emergency stock, which (Y/N) assumes are exactly for cases like these parties.

"Feel free to take and use whatever you need. I'll set some more linen and pillows out in case it gets colder during the night, and I'll instruct Greg to crank up the heating in the house."

"Thank you, Emma. That's very kind of you."

Emma steps over to (Y/N) and rubs her upper arm lovingly. "You're more than welcome. Any family of Al's is family of ours. Why don't you go grab Aly's things and I'll show them to their room?"

(Y/N) weaves herself through the noisy crowd in the direction of the front door before grabbing her black coat from the coat closet and wrapping it tightly around her thick body. She sniffs as her face makes contact with the icy climate outside and her breath fogs in front of her face.

Crickets can be heard in the far distance as she scans the dark English countryside for any signs of impending danger.

Her boots slosh in the snow as she treks through the thick layer of white ice and with stiff cold hands she presses the button on the key fob, unlocking Alan's sleek black Jaguar XF. The mechanical beast blinks its lights twice and chimes as it sounds its unlocked state.

She opens the back passenger door and reaches over Alyson's car seat in search of the Burberry tote diaper bag. She grasps the bag's handle in her cold hand and checks the inside to make sure she takes everything. There's no way in hell she's making her way outside again tonight.

Once inside the house again, she revels in the way the warm air encircles her cold rosy cheeks.

 _Was the music always this loud?_ She wonders quietly as the music is now at a distinctly higher volume compared to the dead quiet dark outdoors. She moves further away from the sound, all the way to the back of the hall, and shuts the door to their newly assigned room.

She tuts her tongue in thought as she scans the room, thinking of a sleeping arrangement for Alyson.

"Oh, good - more sheets," she quietly notes under her breath as she spots the stack of linen on the sofa chair that Emma must have placed there moments ago.

She places the diaper bag on the bed and starts to push the sofa chair forward before the door suddenly creeks open, letting in a small amount of noise pollution, and shuts again.

She looks up and sees Alan in the doorway cradling a fussy young Alyson against his chest. His hair is damp and slicked back, probably from the shower's steam.

"How are you two?" She asks concerned and stills her actions.

"I'll be fine," he croaks in his raspy voice.

_Judging from the sounds of that, the steam didn't do him any good._

"Alyson will need some medication, though," he adds and rubs her back soothingly with his large hand as she whimpers.

"I think we might have something in the bag, I'll check," she leans forward and pushes against the chair again.

"What is it that you're doing?" He walks over with Alyson still attached to him and helps her push the sofa.

"Trying to make a bed for her. I'm sure her tiny body must be aching and irritated by now," she grunts and manages to push the chair better with his help.

With one hand, he manages to help her pull the two sofa chairs together to form a cot-like sleeping arrangement for their daughter. (Y/N) uses the extra sheets that Emma provided to cover the makeshift cot and places soft pillows as barriers inside and on the floor around the chairs just in case the chairs shift throughout the night.

"Can Mummy take you, Alyson-sweetie?" (Y/N) asks sweetly as she rubs Alyson's back, her one hand resting on Alan's thick forearm.

Alyson turns her head weakly against her father's chest and tiny red eyes make contact with (Y/N)'s. She knows Aly is probably overtired and her body weak from whatever bug her and Alan have.

"Hm-hmm," she protests meekly but obliges and slips into her mother's hold without so much as a fight.

Alan covers his mouth as he coughs and makes his way out of the bedroom without a word.

With Alyson still clinging on to her hip, she digs through the diaper tote and finds a pair of adorable fuzzy green and red Christmas footy pajamas.

"Okay, Aly-bear, arms up," she instructs the small child sitting on the bed and quickly rids her of her glittery tutu outfit before changing her into her nighttime diapers and her footy pajamas.

She packs away the wet wipes and bundles her earlier outfit into the bag before retrieving her binky from its sterilized container and popping it into Aly's awaiting mouth.

She picks her up on her hip again before rocking her calmly.

"Emma was kind enough to warm us some milk in Alyson's bottle - it's _organic_ ," he mocks in a much lower tone than he usually speaks in.

_His throat must hurt an awful lot then._

"Thanks, dear..." she was about to add more before he interrupts.

"I diluted it with water to answer your next question, so it's safe for her to drink," he sounds tired, sick.

"Da-dyyy," Alyson whines and stretches her arms out at Alan, twisting in her mother's grip.

"Not now dear, I'll get dressed, and then I'll take you," Alan apologises to a fussy Alyson and makes his way into the bathroom to find some refuge of his own from an insistently crying Alyson.

"There's clothes in the drawers. Pick anything you think will fit," (Y/N) calls over a shrieking Alyson's cries.

"Here, look, you want some milk?" She tries sweetly, holding the lukewarm bottle up to Aly's mouth before she swats it away with her tiny hand.

She watches the bathroom door over her mother's shoulder as she sobs, huge crocodile tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Da-dyyyy," she hiccups and cries with her arm stretched out to the bathroom.

"Alyson, just give Daddy some time to get dressed, okay? He'll be out in a minute," (Y/N) rocks her calmly trying to quiet the small child before setting the bottle down on the nightstand.

"Here, here, I'm here. Come here," Alan emerges from the bathroom in a slightly larger than normal Bee Gees t-shirt and long flannel pants, holding his arms out to Alyson after turning the bedroom lights significantly darker.

"Da-dy, Pa-dy," she whines as Alan tries to rock her to a calm state.

"Where is the bloody bear?" He asks annoyed yet again as he scans around him for the stuffed animal.

"Pa-dyyyyy!"

"I-I don't know. When last did you see it?" (Y/N) asks panicked, frantically lifting up sheets and digging through the tote bag.

Heaven knows that child will not calm down or fall asleep if her beloved Paddington is not with her. Curse Emma for gifting them the bear when Alyson was born.

"Pa-dyyyyy, Da-dy!"

"I don't... think I've seen it at all?" He answers unsure, covering a cough, and tries to readjust the binky in Alyson's mouth to prevent her from swallowing the thing in the midst of her crying.

"Da-dy," she gives a hiccuped sob. "Pa-dyyyyy!"

"I know sweetie, Mummy's trying very hard to look for him, okay? Try to close your eyes," he rests her on her back in his arms and rocks her gently as her arms and legs flail in the air.

(Y/N) quietly makes her way out the bedroom and into the jolly hall again in search of the bear.

"I take it you're looking for him?" Emma spots her emerging from the bedroom, holding the bear up in front of her.

"God, yes! Thank you, she won't calm down without it," she thanks the dame and retrieves with Paddington back into the room.

Alan has Alyson somewhat calmer now in his cradling arms as he pats her back slightly while she sucks on her bottle. Her eyelids are growing heavier by the second but he knows she's fighting sleep until she has her _Paddy_.

"Here you go, sweety," (Y/N) whispers quietly in the dimly lit room and hands Alyson the bear, much to the young tod's delight.

"While we have her calm..." (Y/N) fishes the kids cold and flu medicine from the diaper bag and draws a syringe full of the green liquid.

She inconspicuously inserts it along the bottle's teet into Aly's mouth as she sucks the milk and medication mixture. She makes her way out of sight and into the bathroom to rinse the syringe and change into something more comfortable.

Alan lowers Aly gently into her bed for the night before covering her in the sheets.

"Da-dy, hand," Alyson whines sleepily, chewing the teet between her teeth, and stretches her hand out to her father.

"You need to sleep, Aly-bear," he mumbles to her quietly and reaches for her hand in the dark before lowering himself onto the floor next to her makeshift cot.

She holds on to his two thick fingers as he wiggles them around slowly, trying to soothe her to sleep while rubbing his thumb over her enclosed hand. Her head moves from left to right, her eyes dancing in their sockets, as she tries to take in all the detail in the unfamiliar room while sucking on her bottle.

"God, you're never going to fall asleep, are you?" He moans quietly and lets his head fall in defeat.

He rests his elbow on the arm of the sofa chair as his hand moves to rub at her fuzzy belly softly. His fingers slowly make their way to her baby soft face as they trail soft patterns across her button nose, cheeks, and chin.

**Listen to YouTube video now.

" _Le point du jour, a nos bosquets rend toute leur parure_..." goosebumps run up her arms as (Y/N) hears his muffled singing through the bathroom door.

She gives a small smile and leans her ear against the closed door, listening to him sing. She's never heard him sing before - even when he was recording the audiobook _Return to the Native_ , he never allowed her access to the studio.

She cracks the door slightly and stares into the dark room, watching him interact with their daughter through the small sliver.

"You can stop spying now - she's asleep," he whispers slightly louder for her to hear but not enough to wake a sleeping Alyson.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop, sorry," she smirks while switching off the bathroom light, making her way over to them. She rests her hand on his one shoulder and leans down to gently stroke Aly's cheek.

"She's so peaceful, you would never be able to tell that she just spent the last hour screaming her head off."

"Speak for yourself. My ears are still ringing," he motions for her to help him off the floor before he undoes his silver watch and places it on the nightstand, careful not to make too much noise.

"Here, I found this vapor rub in the bathroom cabinet. Did you want to use it?" she holds the blue and green container out to him.

"Can you put it on, please?" He asks over his shoulder as he settles down on the edge of the bed.

"On your back?"

"Hm," he confirms before plugging his phone into the charger and lifting his shirt to expose his back.

She climbs on top of the bed on her knees and scoots closer towards him. Alan hisses quietly as the cold gel makes contact with his skin, but soon revels in the heated tingling sensation as (Y/N)'s delicate hands rub across his back.

"Lie down, let me do your chest," she scoops some of the ointment with her two fingers and waits patiently for him to lie down on the bed and lift his shirt in the front.

"You know, I am more than capable of rubbing my own chest," he says in a gruff voice, rather annoyed at her faffing.

"You've been taking care of Aly all day. Let me take care of you, please," she pleads quietly and gently rubs the vapor rub across his silver-haired chest.

Alan studies her face quietly in the dark and smirks, knowing how much she actually enjoys taking care of him. He pulls his shirt down and covers himself with the thick warm duvet before rolling onto his side, facing his wife.

"You gonna be okay throughout the night?" She asks concerned as she waits for his coughing fit to pass.

"I'll... be fine," he sits back up and grabs a tissue from the nightstand, wiping at his dripping nose. "As long as I don't wake Alyson, that is."

"Hopefully the medication will kick in soon enough and knock her out cold," she says as she lies down, finally falling asleep despite the slight music of the party still ringing throughout the room.

"Let me drive, there's nothing wrong with my abilities to function properly," the keys to the Jag jingle in his grip as he hooks Alyson's diaper bag over his shoulder the next morning.

"Alan, look at you - you're a hot mess," Emma chides him. "You'll do no such thing."

"Mother has spoken," (Y/N) jokes playfully and holds her hand out to him. "Keys, please."

He looks between both women and rolls his eyes before adding to Alyson, "They've got me outnumbered..."

He slaps the keys begrudgingly into his wife's awaiting hand before leaning against the door frame, arms crossed across his chest.

"Come on, little Al. It's time we head out," she says sweetly and reaches for her in Emma's grasp. The babe obliges and transfers smoothly over to her mother's hip. (Y/N) zips her small snow jacket up and secures her hat before turning to Emma again.

"Again, thank you so much for everything. And I apologize if we imposed in any way."

The older woman laughs, "It's no trouble at all, dear, really."

(Y/N) secures Alyson in her car seat and is relieved to see the small child already droopy since she's due for her morning nap. She places a few pecks on her open mouth before removing her shoes and placing Paddington in her lap.

"Are we all set?" She slides into the driver's seat and looks over at Alan slouched against the front passenger seat as she turns up the heat in the car.

"We've been set for the past hour now. I don't know why you insist on faffing so much," he gruffs as he looks at Alyson in his side mirror before resting his head against the cold window.

"Hmm, if you're going to be this cranky all the way home you might as well get your nap in at the same time Alyson takes hers," she advises as she backs out of the snowy gravel driveway with her precious cargo.


	2. Away From Home 2

"Eat some banana so Mumma can give you medicine, Aly," (Y/N) instructs the small child in her high chair, handing her the cut-up bananas for lunch.

As Aly reaches for the slice of yellow fruit, mouth wide open, (Y/N) sneakily squirts the syringe of green medicine into her mouth without her noticing. She takes pleasure in seeing her daughter scrunch up her face in confusion at the strange taste accompanying the banana, but she knows at least she'll get better.

"Da-dy?" Alyson asks with a mouth full of mashed banana, looking at her mother expectantly.

(Y/N) turns her attention to the kitchen doorway in the hopes to see her husband standing there. However, she's met with disappointment and furrows her brow.

It's been one-and-a-half hours since she went to wake him for the day, but she figured he must still be exhausted from the drive coming from Emma's this morning. Given, neither he nor Aly has been feeling much better since the night before.

"I don't know where Daddy is, sweetheart..." she says as she pops the last slice into Aly's mouth before wiping the child's hands clean and putting her empty plate in the sink.

"Arms up, Bubba," she instructs and picks Aly up, resting her on her hip.

She carries her to the tan leather sofa and places her gently down before handing her Paddington and switching on the telly.

"I'll be right back, my sweet," she says as she makes her way upstairs in search of her husband.

It's the umpteenth time that Alan has coughed this morning. His throat feels raw and prickly, like ground beef mixed with a bag of needles. Not only is it that, but it's as dry as the Sahara Desert. Every time he swallows, it feels like there's a big rock at the back of his throat that his saliva can't get past.

He did try to sit up after his wife came to wake him earlier, but the act itself got him winded. He decided to lie back down and close his eyes, quickly falling asleep again. The last thing he remembers hearing was (Y/N)'s sweet humming coming from the running shower. He would've loved to join her in there, but the mere thought of water running over his body was enough to put him off.

She comes to a halt and frowns as she's greeted by their shut bedroom door.

 _That's strange - Alan never shuts the bedroom door since Aly's been born,_ she frowns and thinks to herself.

She gives a slight knock and after receiving no answer, enters their shared bedroom. She spots the white lump of duvet move as Alan uses all his strength to shift in bed and move onto his side, facing the window.

Worriedly, (Y/N) makes her way around to his side of the bed, kneeling in front of his sleeping face. She stretches out a delicate hand and softly places it on his forehead, startled at how hot he feels.

"Alan," she whispers urgently, lightly moving the covers out of his face and tucking it under his stubbly chin.

His red and tired eyes slowly open and he squints once he notices the fierce stream of bright light seeping in through the still closed blinds behind his wife.

"Hm," he croaks tiredly.

"Babe, you're hot," she states worriedly.

"You really think so?" he asks lightly in his croaky voice.

She rolls her eyes light-heartedly before slapping his covered shoulder.

"Stop, I'm being serious. You're burning a hole in our bed," she reaches for his nightstand, opening his top drawer.

She rummages through old batteries, discarded reader's glasses, and a vast amount of notebooks and pencils before finding the thermometer.

"Impossible," he uses every ounce of his strength to throw the covers off him, slowly sitting up in the bed.

"You're dripping wet," (Y/N) shrieks softly as she notes how his shirt is clinging to his damp torso.

"So are you," he replies witty, lifting his seemingly heavy hand to his forehead, nearly having a heart attack at feeling how hot he is.

"Stop with the innuendos, now is not the time," she replies coolly and slips the thermometer under his tongue.

"I don'th wanth any-thing under my to-," he complains as the thermometer bobs up and down while he talks.

"Shhh! Stop talking and take this seriously, please. I need to get a reading on this."

"Yeth, thir," he replies mockingly with a clocked silver eyebrow.

The slight beeping alerts them that the temperature reading is ready and she pulls it from his mouth, "Shit... 39 Celcius..."

"It's fine," he answers aloof. "I'll take some paracetamol."

"It's not going to help, Alan. Why didn't you just take the medication I offered you yesterday at Emma's, hm? It would've prevented all this."

"I'm fine. It will go away in a day or two," he defends, covering his shivering form with the covers again.

"No, you're not, you're not fine!" She's pissed off now.

"Am I dying?" He asks comically, not really sure where her sudden outburst is coming from.

"You very well might be," she scolds, hands resting on her hips.

"God, my head is killing me," he mumbles irritably under his breath. "You wanna hand me a piece of pencil and a paper from my drawer?"

"What?" Her eyebrows furrow confused. "What on earth for?"

"For my will."

"What will?"

"Apparently, _man-flu_ is deadly. I'd like to draw up my will before I die."

"You don't need a will, because you're not dying," she sighs defeated, changing her earlier threat about him dying.

"Tell me - would you cry if I died?" He asks suddenly, playfully.

She rolls her eyes at his childish behavior and drops her arms to her side, "No, because you're not going to die."

"But if I _did_ die... Would you cry then?"

She walks around to her side of the bed, picking up her towel from her earlier shower, off the floor.

"Why are you so determined to die all of a sudden?" Annoyance evident in her tone.

A shrug from Alan before he adds, "At my age, I could die of a mere cold..."

It was meant as a joke, but he could see the life leave his wife's otherwise sparkling eyes as tears start to form in them.

"Alan..."

"(Y/N)..." he retorts jokingly, trying to ease the tension.

"Can you do me a favour?"

Alan thinks for a minute before answering, "if it requires me to get out of this bed, then probably not, dear."

Melancholic dark brown orbs make contact with tired chestnut eyes and he knows that what's coming next is said with all seriousness.

"Can you please stop talking about dying?" She pleads softly, fingering the fluffy white towel. "...You might think it's funny, but I really don't think it is. You have no idea how scared I get when you talk about dying. You have a beautiful young baby girl downstairs who would love to see her usually healthy father walk her down the aisle one day," she points in the direction of the doorway.

Alan stays silent as he slowly crawls over to her side, taking her hand in his before placing a kiss on it and staring up into her eyes curiously.

"So you really wouldn't shed a tear if I suddenly died?"

She releases her hand from his grip while groaning softly at the same time. She wants to punch him for having her spell it out to him, but at the same time, he is so adorably sexy when he's sick.

"If you really must know, I won't be able to live without you, so no... I won't be able to cry if I'm dying alongside you."

It feels like the wind just got knocked out of his sails and he clears his throat awkwardly. He frowns, suddenly realizing why (Y/N) hates hearing him talk about dying. He feels nauseated at the thought of his beautiful young wife dying.

"Now, you'll feel better after having a shower and getting back into bed. You need all the rest you can get," she orders before walking into the bathroom and throwing her towel in the hamper.

She returns back into the bedroom and helps Alan slowly out of the bed. Blood rushes to his already pounding head as he manages to stand on his achy legs and he quickly grabs hold of her shoulder as blackness overcomes his vision. 

"You alright?" She asks concerned, lacing a hand around his hip. 

"Just a head rush, I'll be fine," he leans on her and rubs at his tired eyes as his vision slowly starts to return to normal. 

She escorts him into the bathroom and proceeds to set the shower to the temperature he likes.

"I'll be back in a bit to check on you."

"Hm-hm," he hums in recognition as she exits the en-suite. 

"Darling, do you want to watch something else?" She asks Alyson once downstairs again and lifts the remote up to the television, changing it to a Disney movie. 

"Huh-hmmmmm," Alyson shrieks in disapproval, kicking her legs against the tan leather couch, sending Paddington flying through the air. 

"Okay, okayyyy," she reluctantly switches it back.

"You've been watching Peppa 'round the clock now..." she mumbles under her breath while walking around the sofa to pick up Paddington before handing the bear back to her.

She decides to leave their child in peace and instead goes into the kitchen to fetch Alan some medication and a glass of water.

She walks back into their bedroom and is greeted by the pleasant sight of her husband of four years. He still looks sick, but at least he looks clean and fresh in his grey slacks, black sweater shirt, and white socks.

_Fuck, he looks good in black._

And he looks equally sexy in his afternoon stubble that he's sporting on his chin and cheeks. Being this sick, Alan figured skipping one day of shaving won't harm anyone - although he hates an unshaven face.

"Please, take these before you get any worse. I'm not making trips to A&E later tonight," she pops the pills into his reluctantly awaiting hand and she watches as he throws them back into his mouth, chasing it down with the tap water she provided.

"Thanks, love," he pecks her on her forehead with his moist lips and walks past her, towards the room.

"Where are you going? You need to get back in bed," she demands sternly.

"I'm not tired. Besides, I want to spend time with my daughter," he says matter-of-factly.

"Wha-, no, you're not. She's sick and you're sick. I just got her temp down and I don't want you to contaminate her any further."

"You can't keep me from seeing my child, (Y/N)."

"I'm no- Al, that's not what I'm doing. I just..." She groans as he ignores her, walking out the bedroom before she can finish her sentence.

"What are you watching?" Alan croaks as he takes a seat next to his daughter on the couch.

"Pe-pa!" She shouts in glee causing Alan to groan as her loud announcement causes further pain to his achy head.

"Hm, glad to see you're keeping it educational," he replies sarcastically under his breath. Their biggest fear is that she'll pick up the ghastly accent from this show. 

"Only one hour of telly for the both of you before you need to get some rest again, Al," his wife reminds him as she descends the stairs into the living room. 

"Let me take care of Aly, darling. Take some time for yourself," he calls over his shoulder as she enters the kitchen. 

_Some time for myself, eh? Who does he think does the cooking or the laundry around here? This whole household will come to a standstill if I "took some time for myself"._

She proceeds to pull carrots, celery, onions, chicken stock, egg noodles, and left-over chicken breasts from the refrigerator before laying the ingredients down on the cream white kitchen island and dicing everything into small pieces. She sighs as she watches Alan through the open-plan space, dozing off on the couch. He has barely been watching the television for the past ten-minutes before he fell asleep. 

She quickly adds all the vegetables and chicken to the boiling chicken stock, letting it simmer on the stovetop before making her way over to her family. She notes how Aly is still wide awake, eyes intently scanning the television. Her hand gently makes its way to Alan's forehead and she's relieved to find that the medication she offered him is finally doing their job. 

Another coughing fit wakes Alan abruptly and he shivers from the cold as he scans his surroundings confused. He looks over at Alyson nestled against his side and over at the television. 

_Okay, so I'm in the living room. What day is it? Did I miss anything?_

He looks down at his watch to confirm the date before Alyson gives a loud yawn.

"If you're looking for us, well be upstairs," he calls in his gravelly voice, scooping Alyson up into his arms.

"Wha?" (Y/N) comes walking into the living room to find it empty. With a sighing scoff, she turns her attention back to her task in the kitchen.

"See, this is much better than sitting in the cold living room," he says as he scoots Alyson closer to his side on the king-sized bed while covering them both with the comfy white duvet.

He picks her thick picture book of fairytales up from his nightstand and opens it at the bookmark before reading _Goldilocks and the Three Bears_ to her. 

"See, darling?" He points at the sleeping bear on the page. "This bear looks just like Paddington, doesn't it?" 

"Pa-dy?" She clutches the bear around his neck before leaning into the book and staring down the two-dimensional version in the book. 

"I should've known you abducted her and dragged her into your cave of man-flu," the sarcastic words of his wife rings throughout their bedroom. 

"We're busy enjoying the comfort of this luxuriously expensive bed I spent our good money on," he pats the bed for her to take a seat next to where they're lying.

"You both need to eat," she reminds him and sits down with the tray in her lap, the delicious aroma of chicken noodle soup filling the space.

After placing the book back in its spot, he takes his bowl from her and rests it on his chest as he brings spoon after spoon of the steaming hot liquid up to his mouth, slurping it soundlessly.

"Why don't you sit up? You're going to choke, Al."

She stretches a spoonful of the chicken noodle soup out to Aly and the small child gladly accepts.

"I will not," he answers aloof before (Y/N) flashes him a knowing look.

After finishing feeding Alyson, she collects their bowls and places them back on the tray. 

"I'll get you both some Kleenex," she disappears out of the room with the tray and reappears moments later with the box of tissues. 

"Aren't you tired?" He asks incredulously as he watches her wipe Aly's snotty nose before he wipes his own. 

"Of what?"

"Working... Running up and down these stairs."

She guffaws, "Ha. I haven't done much today, honey."

"Well, it's tiring me out just watching you. Just...stop moving around and spend time with us," Alan pleads with firmness evident in his tone of voice.

She sighs before reluctantly kicking off her trainers and getting under the covers with them. 

Alan shifts in the bed, lying on his back and facing the ceiling, as he desperately tries to fight off the urge to sleep. Every aching bone in his body is begging him, yelling at him, to fall asleep but he wants to stay awake for as long as possible in order to soak up every bit of family time they get to spend together. 

(Y/N) turns her head his way, her shoulder-length bob scrunching up against the headboard, as she watches her husband. He looks worse for wear with his silver strands of hair ruffled in all directions, his stubbles now making him look raggedy and scrawny. His eyes now look sunken into their sockets, light grey circles under his eyes.

"You need to rest, Al - I'm being serious. You know the only way to get better is rest," she rests her hand on the back of her daughter's sandy brown hair and runs her delicate fingers lazily through the strands. 

"Mu-ma, boob juice," Alyson crawls closer to (Y/N) on her knees and rests her tiny hands on her mother's chest, gently tugging at her shirt.

Both (Y/N) and Alan look at each other in surprise.

"Where is this coming from?" 

"I don't know - she hasn't been breastfed since a good few months ago," she shrugs and lifts her shirt, freeing her left breast from her bra.

She cradles Aly in her lap and lets the babe suck on her as her small hand lands on her mother's other breast, gently kneading it in comfort.

"Do you have anything left in there?" He asks lightly.

"I guess we'll soon find out. I just don't want to get her back in the habit of breastfeeding again."

"Hm," he agrees. "She's probably just looking for comfort, my dear."

His hand reaches up and gently strokes the back of Aly's sandy brown hair. He leans closer and places a kiss on (Y/N)'s covered shoulder.

"You're a good mother, love."

She gives a muffled laugh before scooting all the way flat on her back, adjusting the pillows behind her, and resting her head in the crook of his arm with Alyson still in her lap. She nuzzles her nose against his stubbly neck, inhaling his distinctive cardamom and cloves scent from his aftershave. Without moving Alyson from her latched position, she rests her left arm across his torso and gently rubs his protruding stomach through his shirt with the back of her hand.

"I think I should start getting rid of that," he says after he turns his head away in a coughing fit.

"What?"

"My beer-belly," he scoffs comically.

"That's not a beer-belly, dear. That's a wine-belly."

"Either way..."

"No, don't... I like your dad bod. I sure as hell didn't marry you for your six-pack abs." _Or lack thereof_ is what she wanted to add but decided against insulting him in his sick state.

She listens as his muffled laughs die down, his breathing deepening and slowing down as he finally falls asleep. (Y/N) takes a peek at Aly to find her also peacefully asleep. Satisfied with her two sick children now finally resting, she closes her eyes and decides to join them in dreamland. 


End file.
